


He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

by fanficloverme96



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, I don't know, I really have no idea what is Stiles' real name, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficloverme96/pseuds/fanficloverme96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ONE-SHOT: “"I will never tell you,” he says. “And you wouldn't even be able to pronounce it anyway.” Some Sterek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Er, dessen Name nicht genannt werden darf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6085819) by [DaintyCrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaintyCrow/pseuds/DaintyCrow)



“No way. No freaking way.”

It is 12.35 p.m. exactly, a hot Saturday afternoon with clear blue skies and other poetic descriptions Stiles could come up with if he has the time.

And not currently shaking his head and backing up against the wall.

“I will never tell you,” he says. “And you wouldn’t even be able to pronounce it anyway.”

Scott raises an amused eyebrow. “Really.”

“Really,” Stiles insists. “I can’t even pronounce it till I was nine.” He crosses his arms. “Like, why do you even want to know, anyway?”

Scott lets out a long-suffering sigh and kicks the sand, dirtying his brand new sneakers and Stiles makes a sound of protest because he is the one who bought those for Scott’s birthday and they cost him half of his allowance. But that aside.

“It’s for an assignment,” Scott answers, scratching at the back of his head. “English.”

“We don’t have an English assignment,” Stiles replies in confusion.

“Lucky you,” Scott mutters. “Apparently, Ms. Andrews finds my essays lacking…creativity,” Scott emphasizes the word with dramatic gestures of his hands. “So she assigns me one more essay due next Monday that would _maybe_ help my creativity problem…or whatever.”

Stiles relaxes slightly and leans against the wall. “What’s the assignment?”

“Solve one greatest mystery in your life,” Scott drawls out the title and rolls his eyes. Stiles stiffens, his own eyes narrowing as he looks at his best friend. “And my _name_ is the greatest mystery in your life?” Stiles scoffs, clearly offended.

Scott sends his best friend an apologetic look. “Sorry, man. But you know I have a point. I’ve known you since we were in kindergarten. We joined the _scouts_ together. And I have not known your real name till now.”

“Why can’t you choose an easier topic to work out?” Stiles throws his hands in the air, flailing them around like he usually does. “Like...I don’t know. Something like, the day I turned into a werewolf and I still don’t know how to work this shit out properly?”

“You want me to write about lycanthropy,” Scott deadpans. “And let Ms. Andrews know what I really am.”

“It’s not like the woman is actually going to believe you!” Stiles cries in exasperation. Why can’t Scott just see his point, already?  “The whole point of the assignment was to get as creative as possible and what’s more creative than supernatural stuff?”

“Your name,” Scott says simply. “Come on… It can’t be _that_ bad.”

Stiles lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, trust me, it can.”

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just ask your dad.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

Scott smirks. “Well, your dad should be home early today so…” He takes a step backward.

“Scott, don’t you-,”

“See ya!” Scott says cheerfully before running off towards the direction of Stiles’ house. The latter curses a little before covering his mouth. It is a force of habit; in the Stilinski’s household, one curse calls for one dollar donated in the jar. And Stiles donates a bit too much this month. Granted, his dad does too, but anyway.

“Scott, come back-come on, don’t be like that – DAD! NO, DO NOT TELL HIM ANYTHING!”

* * *

 

~*.*~

It was nearly midnight and Stiles is currently pacing around in his bedroom, fuming silently. He is so lost in his thoughts that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears his window being unlatched and a dark figure climbs into the bedroom.

A water gun would not do much harm but Stiles scrambles for it anyway.

“W-who are you? I’m armed,” says Stiles.

“Drop that lame toy and calm down. It’s me,” replies the figure. A switch on the wall is flicked on and light streams into the room. Sitting on his bed is none other than Derek Hale, currently wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a dirty, badly-torn white top.

“ _God_ ,” Stiles groans. “Can’t you knock on the front door like a normal werewolf?”

“A normal werewolf would just eat you in sight,” Derek replies easily.

Stiles sighs again and sets down his water gun. He turns to Derek and studies him. “And what the hell happened to you, anyway?”

Derek shrugs. “Ran into some old company. Nothing new.”

“But of course,” Stiles snaps. “A gang fight is nothing new to the great Alpha Hale. Right. Whatever.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Someone’s in a chipper mood, tonight,” he comments.

Stiles stills and lets out a breath, sparing Derek a tired glance. “Sorry, it’s just…” He walks over to Derek and sits beside him. Derek adjusts his position so that Stiles is leaning against his forearm. The latter closes his eyes.

“Scott found out my real name, today.”

Derek waits.

“And?” he prompts after a few minutes of silence.

“And, it’s embarrassing!” Stiles moans. “You know, Scott, who is my best friend and thus he should not have done what he did, he could not stop laughing about at it for at least half an hour!” He moans again and slumps onto the mattress before rolling to his side. “God, he wasn’t supposed to know till he’s at least _fifty_ and had memory problems.”

“So Scott knows your real name,” Derek begins, turning to face Stiles. “I don’t quite see the problem about it.”

Stiles glares at him. “You don’t _know_ my real name, Derek, so you wouldn’t understand. And if everybody knows, I’m going to be a laughing stock of the country for the next ten years.”

Derek crosses his arms. “So tell me.”

Stiles’ glare intensifies. Derek sighs.

“I’ll be the judge of the weirdness of your name. Come on, tell me. It can’t be _that_ horrible.”

He watches the boy as he takes a deep breath and looks at Derek carefully and warily. He chews the inside of his cheek. “Promise me you won’t laugh.”

“What are you, five?” At Stiles’ glare, Derek concedes. “Alright, alright. I promise.”

Stiles bites his bottom lip and gets into a sitting position before scooting closer to Derek. He leans in and whispers his name into Derek’s ear.

Silence.

Derek blinks.

Well, one thing for sure, there is no way Derek could _ever_ pronounce it, no matter how much he twists his tongue. But he could hear the word Stiles buried in it and the name is unique.

Beautiful, even, in a way that no one could possibly explain.

“Well?” Stiles asks. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” He slumps his shoulder.

Derek shakes his head. “Well…it’s not weird, per se. It’s unique.”

Stiles scoffs. “That’s just a nice way to say the word ‘weird’.”

“Hey,” Derek throws an arm around Stiles’ shoulder casually, pulling him closer. Stiles blushes at the sudden intimacy but says nothing.

Their… relationship, as the public would normally call it, just began about a few months ago and no matter how comfortable Stiles is now with Derek, he still gets embarrassed when Derek decides to get a little PDA-ish, which is rare, considering it is _Derek Hale_ we are talking about here.

“I think your name is nice,” Derek continues, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “Hard to pronounce, but I like it.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Stiles mumbles.

“Partly, but I mean it anyway. Sets you apart from the crowd. Unique,” answers Derek. “Just like the rest of you.”

“And what the hell does that mea-mmph-!”

It was 12.15 a.m. and right now, Stiles is busy being kissed by Derek to even care about the time anymore.

* * *

 

~*.*~

The next day, at noon, Stiles stares at his computer in disbelief. He has logged onto his Facebook and finds three messages waiting for him in his inbox. They are from Allison, Erica and Isaac and written in different ways. But the messages have one thing in common.

_I know your real name._

Calmly, Stiles types in a name in the search bar and waits for a few seconds before a profile pops up. He clicks on the empty space provided and begins to type.

_Scott McCall, you are so dead._

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr Prompt. Had some fun writing this.


End file.
